It was getting weirder and weirder. Mike was insane, but he was covering it well. There were no outbursts, no changing of outfits, no out damned spot attitudes toward his dog, he was doing fine ... until he began thinking whimsically, nostalgically, musically, unrealistically and apocalyptically. And morbidly. He wanted to stage Woodstock in the Woods. The last gasp of the hippie generation, flower power, the Sixties, and, seventies, rainbows, granny glasses, beads, hip huggers, mari-fucking-juana. He lived in Tennessee, which explained a lot. The portion of Tennessee where Mike lived, Mike being his nickname, his real name being Michaelanjellico, had a lot to do with that. It was either the emissions from the Du Pont plant, emissions from the non-descript plant with the tall fences strung with barbed wire, paint chips, the sludge in the creek ... or a complete breakdown of the educational system. And so to right that, and, in part, to celebrate the death of Richard Nixon, he decided that he would pull out the stops.